


Straightforward For An Elf

by RavenGrey



Category: Sherlock BBC, The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: AU, Bath Sex, Crossover, Crossover Pairing, Ear play, Elflock, M/M, Porn with the vaguest hints of a plot, Roughhousing, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-16
Updated: 2013-07-01
Packaged: 2017-12-05 10:40:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/722125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenGrey/pseuds/RavenGrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“And just what do you think you’re doing?” Bilbo manages to yelp, sounding thoroughly offended, despite how tired he is, when a slender finger brushes against the over heated skin of his earlobe. His cheeks flush at the sudden spike of arousal that makes itself known and he shifts uncomfortably, stretching his feet towards the ground in an attempt to find purchase and failing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Weird crossover thing that was encouraged and proof read by the wonderful and lovely magicbubblepipe. I think it turned out half decent. Sort of. Any way. Enjoy!

           Bilbo is in quite the predicament, his legs spread indecently wide over the lithe thigh of a rather attractive elf. Whose fingers just so happened to be wandering dangerously close to the sensitive skin of Bilbo’s ears.

            It had happened quickly enough, the sudden invasion of his personal space, and Bilbo was left trying to inquire politely as to just what in the hell the elf thought he was doing. He had gone from marveling at the carvings on the frame of a door to straddling a slim thigh in a shadowy alcove in a matter of seconds.

            It isn’t going very well, the inquiring that is, as his eyes keep slipping shut and his clever tongue keeps getting tangled while the elf’s skilled fingers waste no time in carding through his hair, which is filthy and matted. Bilbo’s search for the baths being interrupted by the elf he is now using as an impromptu seat.

            “And just what do you think you’re doing?” Bilbo manages to yelp, sounding thoroughly offended, despite how tired he is, when a slender finger brushes against the over heated skin of his earlobe. His cheeks flush at the sudden spike of arousal that makes itself known and he shifts uncomfortably, stretching his feet towards the ground in an attempt to find purchase and failing.

            The simple, oddly curious “Observing.” he receives momentarily stuns him and he gives the elf a disapproving look. “And just what, pray tell, are you observing?” Bilbo asks with a huff under his breath, still trying halfheartedly to get down. “The various reactions to the touching of the ears in a sexually matured hobbit.” Bilbo’s aforementioned ears burn and he chokes on an amused chuckle, startled by the blunt answer he had received.

           “A little straightforward for an elf, aren’t you?” Bilbo mutters to himself, wryly amused while he judges the distance to the ground. He fidgets uncomfortably, not expecting a response from the towering elf but getting one all the same.

            “Finicky little thing, aren’t you?” The elf notes dryly, eyes dancing with amusement as the hobbit squirms in his lap, purposefully brushing his fingers over the skin once more. Bilbo gives an irritable huff, not fond of being mocked, his breaths gone shuddery at the touch.

           “I’ll have you know, Lord Elf,” Bilbo responds in a pleasant tone that would fool most, a sharp note hidden beneath it “I’m usually only finicky when a perfect stranger decides to man handle me in darkly lit corridors, in the dead of night.” The elf gives him a mockingly considerate look and says slyly, still touching and caressing the translucent skin beneath his fingers “Very wise of you, Master Hobbit.”

            Bilbo goes to slide off onto the ground, only to have one of the elf’s hands catch him about the waist. The soft bite of fingers sends a shudder down his spine that has nothing to do with the light breeze that tussles his dirty curls and more to do with how easily to elf’s hand spans the width of his side.

           “Honestly,” Bilbo grumps, giving the elf, who’s looking smugly down at him, an exasperated look “is this really necessary?” Ignoring Bilbo, he, oh yes, definitely _he_ , continues his exploration of the hobbit’s ears, fingers lingering curiously over the slightly pointed tips before he slowly drags his finger down the curve of the lobes.

            The short, soft moan that slips free of Bilbo’s lips surprises the both of them, as does the press of Bilbo’s half hard arousal against the elf’s thigh. Bilbo’s hand rises to his mouth, and he feels his face burn with mortification.

            “I’d say so.” The elf murmurs softly, entirely too pleased with himself. A sly grin steals over surprisingly full lips, the likes of which are the only thing visible, as the elf’s face is cast mostly in shadow and he makes a quietly pleased sound.

            “Oh shut it.” Bilbo grumps back, startled once more into silence by his rudeness, however warranted it may be. The elf’s grin widens and he practically beams down at the smaller man in his lap. “There’s hope for you yet.” The elf laughs quietly, a surprising amount of fondness colouring his tone.  

            The elf gives Bilbo a considering look, which is lost on the hobbit who is now staring resolutely at his chest, and slides a hand up over Bilbo’s side. Bilbo shivers when fingers alight on his chin, tilting his head up to meet shockingly blue eyes, and Bilbo’s lips fall open in wordless shock.

           The elf’s eyes are so endlessly blue, a hundred different colours and wildly beautiful. Everything about the elf who had accosted him is wildly beautiful. From the sharp lines of his cheekbones to the silky black locks of hair that are bushed back from his temples and reach the middle of his back.

            The elf is likewise pleased with what he finds in Bilbo’s eyes, which are full of fire and wily determination that has excitement uncurling lazily in his lower belly.

            Bilbo’s fingers twitch with the desire to touch and he clenches his hands on the tops of his thighs, determined not to make any more of a fool of himself. The hand that had been in Bilbo’s hair grasps his wrist haphazardly and he places the palm of Bilbo’s hand flat against the soft material of his tunic. He repeats the process with Bilbo’s other hand and goes back to running his fingers through Bilbo’s hair.

            The elf’s body is cool beneath his warm hands and Bilbo’s fingers flutter with nervous uncertainty, the new roughness of his hands catching on the silken material in a way that delights the elf.

           “You haven’t said no.” The elf points out in a soft whisper, fingertips stroking the underside of Bilbo’s chin.

            “Well, I haven’t said yes, either.” Bilbo retorts tartly after he overcomes his shock, raising his chin so the elf’s fingers are no longer in contact with his skin. The elf’s’ touch sends heat shuddering down his spine and pulls a pleased groan from his throat. Lips curl upwards and the elf leans forward, mouth hovering just over Bilbo’s head while his other hand toys with the curls above Bilbo’s ears.

            “Well then, Master Baggins, I formally ask you for the permission to touch your delightful little ears.” The elf says sarcastically and grandly, pointedly not touching any part of Bilbo’s ear.

           He adds as an afterthought “For the sake of gathering information on other, more obscure species, of course.” Bilbo is largely unsurprised by the fact that the elf knows his name, is more delighted than anything. “Of course.” Bilbo agrees dryly,

           Bilbo’s lips twitch and he gives the haughty elf a regal nod and says in a voice equally as snooty “Granted.” The elf’s light, curious touch feels much too nice and is a nice reprieve from the hardships of the road, despite the fact that it’s considered taboo amongst the company that he keeps. Bilbo finds that he’s unwilling to be parted from it so soon and swallows his pride and what little reservations he has left to indulge in the elf’s touch.

            The musical laugh that he receives, deep in pitch and rolling over Bilbo in delightful waves, brings a sheepish grin to Bilbo’s mouth and he leans forward to hide his reddened face. The elf grins wryly down at the blushing hobbit and resumes his exploration, delighted by the reactions his casual touches bring about.

            Fingertips slide neatly over the delicate skin behind his ear, drawing gasps and another moan from Bilbo, before they dip just inside and caress the skin near the tip of Bilbo’s ear. Bilbo’s back arches, his hands fisting in soft fabric while he clenches his knees around either side of the elf’s thighs.

           He gets a soft chuckle in response, the sound surprisingly sharp for an elf, and the shifting of the aforementioned thigh beneath him, rubbing against the hardness in his trousers and making his cock ache.

            Bilbo flushes hotly and says in a voice that’s incredibly flustered  “You do realize-” his voice cracks then, his eyes closing while he tries to collect himself when the elf massages the tip of his ear. The hot breath on his ear startles a quiet whine from between his teeth and he shudders when “Of course I do.” Is purred dangerously in his ear.

            “Right then, carry on.” Bilbo responds, tone high pitched and breathless as heat curls low and hard in his belly. “Oh I intend to.” Is the reply he gets, followed by the elf’s other hand playing itself over Bilbo’s ear, rubbing the whole of it with his palm.

            When the hands pull away, settling instead on Bilbo’s waist, an objection rises in Bilbo’s throat, only to wither and die when a sinfully hot tongue darts out and drags over the curve of his ear. The wet heat is almost unbearable and Bilbo refrains from cumming in his trousers just barely. The nip of teeth that follows is his undoing, his release hitting him hard and without mercy, a strangled cry escaping him while he clings to the elf desperately.

            As it were, the hands around his waist are the only things that keep him from tumbling to the floor and he’s grateful for the hard press of hands. Overwhelmed as he is, Bilbo barely notices the cheek that presses against the top of his head as he comes or the quick intake of breath when his hands close around fistfuls of fabric. Shuddering head to toe, Bilbo’s toes curl and he presses his forehead against the bottom of the elf’s ribcage.

            “I don’t even know your name.” Bilbo muses, both appalled and amused by the crudeness of it all as he comes back down from the rush of his orgasm. He’s shivery and warm, despite the embarrassment that assaults him when the pleasure begins to subside.

            “You don’t need too.” The elf replies teasingly, a sated expression on his face despite the fact that he himself hadn’t achieved his release. Bilbo chances a glance upwards and gives him a disapproving look, which has the elf laughing again.

            Neatly, the elf picks him and place him on the chilly bit of bench beside him. Bilbo unconsciously shifts closer to the warmth of the elf and enjoys his companionship for the few moments the elf allows, bones gone liquid from the surprisingly intense rush of pleasure the elf had given him.

           “I hope you’ve gathered a sufficient amount of information.” Bilbo says softly, laughter barely contained while the ridiculousness of what had just occurred washes over him.

The elf snorts loudly and then he’s laughing, the sound quiet and warm and Bilbo’s laughing with him, much less quiet and altogether less dignified. Their mirth fades eventually and they’re left with an easy silence, which lasts for a good ten minutes, before the elf rises with a lethal grace and starts off down the hall with out so much as an explanation.

            Bilbo cocks an eyebrow and watches him go, missing the heat of the elf’s body but not entirely surprised by the elf’s sudden departure.

           “Why?” Bilbo calls out to the quickly fading back, tinges of exasperation creeping back into his voice. “Because I wished to experience the various reactions to the touching of the ears in a sexually matured hobbit.” The elf repeats dutifully, tossing a playful smirk back over his shoulder at Bilbo.

           “But mostly because I could.” He calls back laughingly, steps swift and silent as he leaves the blissed out hobbit in his wake. “Well I never.” Bilbo puffs out, trying for affront and just failing.

           “Yes you have, just now.” Bilbo chokes on a laugh, shocked into it by the absurdity of the situation. He gives his pants a rueful look, the prospect of having to hunt down the baths with sticky trousers not in the least bit appealing and stands on shaky legs.

           Taking a steadying breath, he chances a step forward, his legs just barely holding out, and heads off in the direction he had been going in, albeit at a _much_ slower pace. Already lost in his own thoughts, which just so happened to be of an enigmatic elf, the amused call of “Three corridors over and the sixth door on the right,” startles him into turning around “And my name, Master Baggins, is Sherlock.” 

           “Thank you!” Bilbo shouts back mildly, genuinely pleased and still flushed with pleasure. “It was very nice meeting you; I hope we can gather information again sometime.” Bilbo calls out cheekily, hurrying down the corridor away from the strangely charming elf at the other end. The booming laughter that follows him has him grinning like a fool the entire way to the bathing area.


	2. Finicky Little Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a surprise wrestling match Bilbo finds himself once more in the baths. This time he has an audience. A much wanted audience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got really sick of this about halfway through, so it may or may not be butts. Yeah, it's probably butts. If you find any spelling or grammar errors, I'd love to hear about them!

 

            Bilbo had found the baths easily after the elf’s, er, Sherlock’s instructions and had scrubbed the grime from his skin. It had taken a rather embarrassing amount of time and by the time Bilbo managed to extract himself from the blissfully warm water, it was well in to the night.

            Sated and clean, Bilbo had meandered back to the sleeping quarters the elves had provided for the company, snuck past the rest of the company who were gathered around the fire they’d made out of elven furniture, and had slipped in to the room they had graciously given him. After flopping listlessly into bed and hastily wriggling out of his vest and suspenders, Bilbo had fallen asleep almost immediately.

            The next day, better rested than he had been in months, Bilbo had woken to the sounds of steel clashing and had promptly rolled over and gone back to sleep, used to the scuffles the dwarves often started when given free-time. Roughly half an hour later the elated roar of dwarves once more forced him awake and he tumbled out of bed, unwilling to lay about any longer than he already had. He’d then dressed himself and eaten enough food to feed three dwarves.

            The members of the company that were present were all duly impressed.

             After his late breakfast, Bilbo slips away from his rowdy companions and sets about the business of enjoying the rest of Rivendell in all its splendor. Barely out of the great, stunning arch that leads into their temporary quarters, he's tackled to the grass; and Bilbo thanks his lucky stars for that, by Kíli, while Fíli watches on amusedly from a safe distance, pipe in hand.

            Bilbo goes down with a startled yelp while Kíli laughs manically, wrestling the disgruntled hobbit to the grass and putting him in a friendly headlock.

           “Finally up, then, Master Baggins!” Kíli roars good-naturedly, locking a leg around both of Bilbo’s. “We thought you were goin’ to sleep this glorious day away.”

            Bilbo had read in a book about Dwarvish customs, which he’d acquired by perfectly respectable means, thank you very much, that wrestling was a form of bonding and was usually only done between family or comrades in arms.

            In between not being able to breathe properly and wheezing, he's very flattered.

            “Obviously” Bilbo puffs laughingly, wriggling neatly out of the tight hold and darting out of range “and if you boisterous lot hadn’t woken me, I very well would have.” He dodges another of Kíli’s attempts to grab him and slips neatly behind him, years of experience wrestling with Took cousins coming back to him as he kicks Kíli’s knees out from under him.

            Unfortunately, Fíli decides that then and there was a good time to intervene and thumps his pipe against the sole of his boot before tackling Bilbo from behind, which leads to the lot of them going down in a tangled mass of limbs and fur.

            One spectacularly, surprisingly fun grass fight later, in which grass has been shoved in some truly inconvenient places, Bilbo sneaks away from the ongoing fight, leaving the brothers to battle each other.

            A “This is far from over, Baggins!” from one of the brothers followed his tactical retreat and Bilbo grins widely.

            Intent on cleaning the grass stains from his skin and clothes, Bilbo slips off to the baths yet again, stopping by his room for a clean change of clothes on his way. He strips quickly and neatly, leaving his dirty clothes near the edge of the pool, and slips right in, sighing delightedly as the hot water soothes the bruises that would no doubt bloom on his skin given enough time.

              Wrestling with dwarves had its downfalls. On the upside, it had been the most fun Bilbo had had in months and he was left grinning impishly as he scrubs smears of green from his skin.

                 Humming quietly to himself, Bilbo starts to pick at the numerous blades of grass that stick in his curls. Fifteen minutes in and he's still picking them from his hair.

                 Fondly exasperated, Bilbo gives up on his hair for now and scrubs his clothes clean with a bar of lavender scented soap and sets them out to dry.

                 With his back to the door, Bilbo fails to notice the figure that leans casually against the door frame, narrow, almond shaped eyes intent on the unaware hobbit. Full lips curve up into a catlike smile and silvery blue eyes widen with pleasure as he takes in the delightful sight before him.

                  Master Baggin’s back is surprisingly pale, the only visible tan being that from the wrist down and above the neck. Clearly from his time traveling with the dwarves, Sherlock notes, eyes lingering on the gentle curve of Bilbo’s neck. Sherlock wonders what it would feel like beneath his mouth.

                  Fascination and the burning desire to understand the little creature before him rises hard and swift and he hungrily sweeps his eyes down what little of Bilbo’s body is visible.

                  A light smattering of freckles decorates Bilbo’s back, scattered liberally and occurring less frequently the farther down he cares to look. More obvious, however, are the occasional grass stains that scatter his lower back. Sherlock’s lips hitch even further upward and he takes a few silent steps forward, curious as to how close he can get before the hobbit notices him.

                 He’s surprised with himself; it’s been so long since he’s taken an interest in anything, especially the body of another. Even longer since he’s taken interest in the personality that accompanies such a thing, but that doesn’t change the fact that Bilbo is  horribly interesting in every way that Sherlock can think of.

                 And feisty. Not to mention brave to the point of stupidity. The hobbit had gone chasing after a company of raucous dwarves, for Aule’s sake. Sherlock wants to know, despite his better judgment, and he’s never been any good at denying himself anything, so he gives in to the desire after a brief glance down.

                 What he finds causes him to cock an eyebrow, not entirely surprised with his half hard arousal, just visible through the sheer fabric of his dressing gown. He had had a rather viscous wank after leaving Master Baggins to his own devices, coming over his own hand in mere seconds once he’d reached the safety of his rooms. For him, it had been a record and thoughts of the hobbit had haunted him through the night, rousing him twice more before his lust had been satisfied.

                 His robe puddles silkily around his bare feet as he shucks it off unceremoniously. The whisper of material is near silent, but Bilbo hears it, turning sharply around to get quite the eyeful, as Sherlock is completely naked beneath the gown.

               “Erm.” Bilbo says politely, cheeks flushed with the heat of the water and shock, followed by a friendly “Hrrm.” If Bilbo’s being perfectly honest, he’s seen his fair share of knobs, but Sherlock’s cock is something else entirely. Slender is the only word that he can think of to describe it. Slender and surprisingly elegant, all things considered. He feels silly describing something so primal with delicate words, but they’re all that come to mind.

               Not to mention that it’s intimidatingly large, easily three times the size of Bilbo’s manhood and twice as thick. Nestled in a trim bed of black hair and half-hard against the pale line of Sherlock’s thigh, it’s the first thing Bilbo sees when he looks up.

               Bilbo swallows heavily, embarrassed and a smidgen exasperated as he forces his eyes up, skimming briefly over the thin trail of hair and up a moonlight pale chest to glacial blue eyes.

               “Hrm.” Sherlock agrees smugly, breaths quickening minutely as Bilbo’s flush makes its way down to the soft curves of Bilbo’s shoulders and his hairless chest. “Lovely day for a bath.” Bilbo stammers, torn between laughing at the brazenness of the elf and sinking beneath the water’s surface in mortification.

                Sherlock’s eyes hold a lethal kind of interest, lust, amusement and fascination all in one and Bilbo demurely covers his exposed nipples by crossing his arms over his chest before he can think better of it.

                The corner of Sherlock’s mouth tilts up and Bilbo shivers despite the warmth seeping into his skin. “I suppose.” Sherlock replies in a disdainfully snooty voice, still incredibly naked and just at the pool’s edge. Bilbo skirts the ledge with a huffed laugh to put a respectable distance between the two of them.

                Sherlock matches every foot Bilbo puts between them and Bilbo grows more and more flustered with the elf’s closeness.

               Bilbo can’t help but notice the freckles that ever so occasionally dot the expanse of the elf’s chest with how close they are. He finds them cute, so he tells Sherlock just that.

               “Your freckles are rather adorable.” Bilbo offers cheerfully, still embarrassed but powering through it when Sherlock gives no sign of being abashed by his nudity. Bilbo purposefully doesn’t look any lower than Sherlock’s neck, to preserve the modesty that Sherlock obviously can’t be bothered to care about.

                Sherlock’s eyes go wide, delightfully startled by Bilbo’s topic choice, before he laughs lowly, voice a silken rasp. Bilbo’s face positively burns and he wiggles uneasily, blood rushing to his lower extremities at a genuinely alarming rate.

                “Likewise.” is the smooth, mischievous drawl he receives in return, coupled with a pointed once over, and Bilbo gives a squawk of indignation as he sinks lower in the water.

                 Sherlock makes a quietly amused sound in the back of his throat and strides forward, intent clear, and slides into the pool not a foot away from Bilbo. The sigh that follows is utterly indecent, curling around Bilbo’s ears and sending a shiver down his spine.

                “Really, Sherlock, resorting to peeping now are you?” Bilbo asks, the unspoken motherly tutting clear, the elf’s name odd and wonderful on his tongue. Bilbo almost wants to say it again, just to feel the syllables slide from his lips. It’s just a suspicion, but Bilbo’s almost certain, the dark haired elf is enjoying the exchange of banter. Bilbo most certainly is.

                 Dwarves, he’s learned, are witty and clever in a crude sort of way that he’s unaccustomed to, while elves share almost the same level of catty wit that hobbits do. Finding such a thing out had been a pleasure in every sense of the word.

                   Sherlock, apparently, also likes the way his name sounds coming from Bilbo’s mouth, because his head lolls against the edge of the pool, full lips parted on a shamefully wanton groan. A throb of arousal spikes through Bilbo’s belly and he glances hastily away from languishing elf.

                  Sherlock smiles, all sharp cunning and edges, his arms spread out easily along the edges of the pool. “Resorting Master Baggins?” Sherlock teases “No, it’s what I’ve been doing from the very beginning.”

                  Bilbo stands about three feet away from the nude near stranger, still trying to edge discreetly away while Sherlock lounges with ease on the underwater bench. “Fair enough.” Bilbo admits, a smile pulling at his mouth. Sherlock fingers are about level with Bilbo’s shoulders by the time Bilbo is done edging away, an entire arm length between them.

                  Well, Sherlock’s arm length, which, for a hobbit, is considerable.

                  Sherlock is every bit as stunning as Bilbo had expected him to be, radiating a cool variety of beauty that reminds him of moonlight. Sherlock watches Bilbo with no discretion whatsoever, blatantly oggling him while Bilbo watches him from under long lashes. They barely brush against pink cheeks as Bilbo steals glances at the elf.

                 Sherlock invites the hobbit closer with a lazy flick of his fingers; the bright blue of his eyes a thin sliver around the black of his pupils. "Up for a little more interspecies investigating, Master Baggins?" Sherlock inquires, tone serious despite the mischief that dances in his eyes. Bilbo looks him in the eye then, and quietly chuffed by what he finds, closes the distance between them. "I'd say so, Master Elf," Bilbo responds crisply, mouth set in a serious line as he stops maybe a few inches away from Sherlock "for the sake of knowledge, of course."

                     "Of course." Sherlock mimics gravely, although he's smiling, genuinely happy by Bilbo's acquiescence. His knees fall open under the water grazing against the skin of Bilbo's hip. Bilbo gasps, the sound warm and shuddery, and watches as Sherlock's throat bobs on a hard swallow.

Sherlock watches Bilbo watching him with a small amount of pride. If he's being honest with himself, it's an immense amount of pride and he all but preens under Bilbo's watchful gaze.

                    Bilbo smiles, a wide, sweet thing and reaches out tentatively to pet a loose strand of Sherlock's hair. Sherlock leans into the touch impatiently, wanting everything Bilbo has to offer all at once. Bilbo's gives the lock a reprimanding tug and slips closer, the entire length of body nearly pressed against Sherlock's side.

                  The water barely reaches Sherlock’s ribcage, sitting, while for Bilbo the water reaches just below his nipples, when standing at full height. There's some kind of oil in the water, spicy and sharp in scent, and it darkens the water, effectively hiding what’s beneath the surface.

            It’s familiar, and Bilbo realizes it’s part of the scent that clings to Sherlock and had peppered his skin after their encounter.

            Sherlock goes to grip Bilbo’s by his love handles, intending to haul him into his lap, only to have the hobbit give his hand a sound smack.

            “Your curiosity was sated the last time, Lord Elf, I daresay it’s my turn.” Bilbo chides with a cheeky smile. Sherlock huffs, but gives in, hands falling back into the water with petulant splash and a grumble of “Sherlock.”

            Bilbo grins; wrapping the damp strands he’d been petting around his finger and bringing it to his lips before repeating his name in a husky voice that surprises even him. Sherlock’s eyes go half lidded and his hands clench on the tops of his thighs.

             “Better, Bilbo.” Sherlock purrs back, the syllables of Bilbo’s name slipping from his tongue like honey. Flushing to the tips of his ears, Bilbo gathers more of Sherlock’s hair in his hands, carding his fingers through the silky strands with something akin with wonder.

           “How do you keep it from getting tangled?” Bilbo asks musingly, not expecting an answer but getting one all the same. “I usually don’t bother.” Sherlock’s eyes are closed, his head tipped back while Bilbo plays with his hair.

             “Did you comb it especially for me, then?” Bilbo asks laughingly, fingers moving smoothly through Sherlock’s long hair without hitting any tangles. The grunt he receives is telling and Bilbo is momentarily startled into stopping, shocked by the revelation and incredibly flattered that Sherlock had groomed himself for Bilbo’s sake.

          The next pass of Bilbo’s fingers through his hair is almost tender. Sherlock’s eyes slit open and he looks down at Bilbo, the desire in his eyes painfully obvious, but he leaves Bilbo to his exploring. The smile he receives for his consideration is almost cunning. Sherlock’s hair is incredibly soft and Bilbo runs the silky strands through his fingers a few more teasing times before hesitantly caressing the pointed tip of Sherlock’s ear. It’s cool beneath his fingertips and so incredibly soft that Bilbo’s mouth falls open slightly while he marvels at the delicate texture.

          The ragged breath that’s punched from Sherlock’s lungs is one of the sweetest things Bilbo has ever heard and he repeats the gesture, committing the delicate curve of Sherlock’s ear to memory. Bilbo can feel the tension that shudders through Sherlock’s body, his hands clenching on the tops of lean thighs while his back arches sharply. Sherlock levels him with a burning look, eyes half-lidded and his lips loosely parted. “Careful little hobbit,” Sherlock breathes out, voice low and silken and warm, “you’re playing with fire.”

          The rough rasp of his voice startles even him and he tips his head back against the rim of the pool to watch the captivating spread of pink over Bilbo’s cheeks.

            A sharp spike of arousal had jolted down his spine at the careful touch and he catalogues the sensation for later exploration. Never before had he considered his ears to be an erogenous zone, but the little hobbit was quickly proving him wrong.

            Bilbo’s breath stutters and he retracts his hand quickly, face flaming, an apology on his lips despite how incredibly hard he is. He’s already taking a quick step back when Sherlock catches his wrist, the movement lightning quick, and brings Bilbo’s fingers to his lips. The hot ghost of breath has Bilbo shivering in the warm water and his fingers twitch against Sherlock’s lips.

            “Ah, Sherlock!” Bilbo gasps, wrist jerking just a little in Sherlock’s hold. “Yes?” Sherlock asks in a tone that’s altogether too innocent and smug for anyone’s liking, flash sparks of pleasure flickering over his skin. Deftly, he sucks the tips of Bilbo’s fingers into his mouth while dragging his nails gently down the slope of Bilbo’s back. Bilbo presses back into the touch, breaths erratic and panting, and only squeaks a little when Sherlock wraps his arm around Bilbo and lifts him up and drops him unceremoniously into his lap, his back to Sherlock’s chest.

           Sherlock drags his teeth over the pads of Bilbo’s fingers and smirks at the deliciously ruffled look on Bilbo’s face. “Brute.” Bilbo huffs out, face bright red as his thighs settle around Sherlock’s, his legs opened obscenely wide to accommodate the width of Sherlock’s lap.

         Taking Bilbo’s fingers all the way into his mouth and sucking, he slides his hand down to Bilbo’s hip and grips, the outline of his own cock bumping into the crease of Bilbo’s arse. The breathy little moan Bilbo gives sears through Sherlock’s nerves and he bucks again, growling lowly around Bilbo’s fingers.

          Bilbo’s toes curl when Sherlock gives a particularly hard suck and he wriggles, pressing his arse back against Sherlock’s length. It’s still intimidating, but Bilbo is an adventurer at heart and presses his hips down eagerly while sliding a surprisingly confident hand down to brush his fingers over the base of Sherlock’s prick. Sherlock makes a low, nearly incoherent sound in the back of his throat and releases Bilbo’s finger to bury his face in the crook of Bilbo’s neck.

            “I seem to have struck you dumb, Lord Elf.” Bilbo mutters warmly up into Sherlock’s ear, his breath hot against the delicate lobe.

            “So it would seem.” Sherlock agrees in a rueful tone, voice calm and collected despite that liquid heat is coiling lethally in his lower belly at an alarming rate.

            His entire body shivers and he closes his mouth over the fading marks of his teeth, sucking a small, pink spot to the surface that the other elves would find abhorrent and gaudy. Sherlock grins fiercely into Bilbo’s skin, Bilbo’s spine arching at the warm press of Sherlock’s mouth.

            Bilbo’s fingers curl tight in Sherlock’s hair when teeth scrape lightly over the skin of his shoulder and he gives a breathy moan, wriggling in Sherlock’s lap. His nails scrape over Sherlock’s scalp when the pressure increases and Sherlock presses his head back into Bilbo’s small hand.

           There’s a wild look in Sherlock’s eyes when he pulls his head back, hedging dangerously close to possession, and when Sherlock’s lips cover Bilbo’s hotly it sends a shock of pure heat straight to his aching cock.

               The quiet whine Bilbo breathes into Sherlock’s mouth is the end of all the teasing and Sherlock grips both of Bilbo’s hips and bucks up into the crease of Bilbo’s arse once, not quite getting the friction he needs. Easy as anything, Sherlock shift Bilbo back on his lap, his cock sliding from between Bilbo’s arse-cheeks to slide between sweet, full thighs.

             The groan pulled from Sherlock’s throat is indecent and his hands shift accordingly, his hands spread wide on Bilbo’s pale thighs. He holds him firmly enough that he can’t wriggle, but gentle enough not to bruise and Bilbo moans good and loud in a most indecent manner as Sherlock’s length slides between his thighs.

           The sensation is odd and sensual and Bilbo cums after the third slow thrust, wrapping his small frame around Sherlock’s and clinging to him while his orgasm reduces him to a shuddering, moaning mess. Sherlock buries his nose in Bilbo’s hair, breathing in the heady scent of lavender and honey, underlaid by his own scent, and bucks up into the surprisingly strong grip of Bilbo’s shapely thighs.

            Bilbo has the presence of mind, dazed and sated as he is, to clench his thighs around Sherlock. Sherlock’s back bows as he cums on a silent gasp, lips parted and eyes slitted with intense pleasure. They close entirely when Bilbo closes his mouth over the skin at the base of Sherlock’s lovely throat and sucks his own mark into the skin.

           Sherlock’s cum coats Bilbo’s thighs briefly before the ebb and flow of water washes it away. Sherlock’s chest is heaving and Bilbo is still gasping, eyes almost closed and lips resting against Sherlock’s skin. Sherlock’s hands trace lazy, complicated patterns on Bilbo’s back and Bilbo toys with a few strands of wet hair.

              Sherlock’s eyes are alive, although Bilbo can’t see them, and Bilbo is smiling shyly into Sherlock’s throat. The tranquil moment is shattered by the thunder of dwarvish boots and Sherlock gives an amused huff when Bilbo groans grumpily into the mark he’d left.

            “”Till next time, my darling Bilbo.” Sherlock breaths into the curve of Bilbo’s ear, gently untangling them with efficient speed and setting Bilbo carefully on his feet before climbing out of the bath. He slips on the robe, the fabric sticking to his wet skin and outlining every curve and tantalizing jut of Sherlock’s body.

            Sherlock’s crosses the room swiftly, steps silent, and goes to leave through the door on the opposite side of the room. He raises a slender hand to his throat and brushes his fingertips against the small, red mark there. Bilbo blushes, aiming for a sheepish expression and only just failing. With a last, easy smirk Sherlock leaves just as silently as he had come.

                   There’s a whoop of glee and then a brown-haired blur is flinging itself into the water, the resulting mini tidal wave washing over Bilbo's head and soaking the towel he'd set nearby. Thankfully, he'd left his clothes a bench, well out of harm's way. Water forces itself up his nose and he splutters, closing his eyes tightly while Fíli and Kíli's resulting laughter fills the room and echoes off the walls. Not quite as loose-limbed and open with his nakedness as he been a few seconds before, Bilbo sinks up to his chin into the milky water.

                  "Oh really!" Bilbo gripes once he spits out his newly acquired mouthful of water, glaring at the dark head that bobs back up. The wide grin on Kíli’s face only grows as he paddles quickly away from the middle, the resulting splash of Fíli hitting the water swamping him.

            “We warned you Baggins, far from over!” Kíli roars delightedly, dogpaddling quickly in Bilbo’s direction, Fíli hot on his tail. Bilbo snorts out a laugh, discreetly eyeballing the stack of plush towels and his dry clothes. “No boys, I’m fairly certain this is over,” Bilbo says casually, hands resting along the edge of the pool. “in fact, I’m quite sure of it.”

            And with that said, Bilbo scrambles up onto the ledge, ignoring the catcalls and wolf whistles his exposed bottom receives, and snatches up a towel and his clothes with haste. Kíli laughs out a “No fair!” and swims harder, expression determined. Fíli looks much of the same and Bilbo covers himself with the towel before high-tailing it out of there.

            But not before tossing a pleasant “You’ll want to be sure to scrub yourselves thoroughly, boys, you’ve acquired a particularly noxious odor that would put trolls to shame.” in a genuine, helpful tone of face.

Kíli’s indignant “Oi, did that wanker just tell us we stink?!” clashes with Fíli’s chuckled “Now yer in for it Baggins, insultin’ our noble name and whatnot.”

            Bilbo’s laughter rang down the hall as he made a near naked dash for his quarters so he could dry off and redress in relative peace, thoughts of a certain elf plaguing his usually innocent enough thoughts.


End file.
